


Warmth

by anamia



Category: Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Coffee, Fluff, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-18
Updated: 2013-07-18
Packaged: 2017-12-20 15:29:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/888856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anamia/pseuds/anamia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I thought you might appreciate this,” Bossuet said, and Feuilly saw that he was holding a steaming mug of coffee in both hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Warmth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [onlyacoffee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/onlyacoffee/gifts).



> This was written as a gift for the ever-lovely Vé.

His head ached and his eyes swam with weariness, but Feuilly stubbornly dug his nails into his palms to stay awake and turned another page. His free time, already rare, had dwindled to nearly non-existent as of late as he found himself scrambling to work more hours to pay for enough fuel to keep himself warm through the coldest part of the winter. The _atelier_ where he worked was only barely heated and his fingers were red and stiff with cold, though he sat on them often to keep them limber enough to work a paintbrush. He had developed a cough, mild but persistent, that Combeferre assured him was nothing to be concerned about, and sometimes it seemed that he would never be warm again. Still, he persevered, working as much as he could and sleeping as little as he could manage. In the hours that remained he read, sitting in his room or by the fire during meetings, book in his lap.

He sat now in the back room of the Corinth, hunched in on himself out of habit, history of Poland’s legendary kings open before him. He covered a yawn with one hand and did his best to focus on the words before him. The others had mostly dispersed by now, but the fire was warm and Feuilly did not relish the thought of the walk home in the cold. So he stayed, knowing the girls who worked there would not object.

So fiercely was he concentrated on his reading that he did not notice someone approaching until they were practically beside him. He started a little, not used to being surprised, and looked up, half prepared to defend his choice to stay up to a well-meaning friend. Bossuet’s smiling face looked down at him and Feuilly smiled back out of reflex.

“I thought you might appreciate this,” Bossuet said, and Feuilly saw that he was holding a steaming mug of coffee in both hands. He offered it to Feuilly, who hesitated.

“Thank you,” he said at last. “But there’s no need.”

“Nonsense,” Bossuet said. “If you don’t drink it no one will, and it would be a shame to let it go to waste.”

Feuilly raised his eyebrows. “Shouldn’t you drink it?” he asked.

“Can’t stand the stuff,” Bossuet said with a grin.

“Then why did you buy it?”

“Lost a bet. I was supposed to drink it myself, true, but I said to myself, what’s the point of wasting such a fine cup of coffee on a palate as unrefined as my own? Surely it would be far more respectful of the hard work that went into its creation to present it to someone who would appreciate it, and who better than my fine friend Feuilly? And, since you are still here, and Courfeyrac has slipped away for the moment and cannot see us, I can give to you the task of consuming this no doubt delightful drink.” He offered Feuilly the cup again, and this time Feuilly took it.

“Thank you,” he said.

“Thank _you_ ,” Bossuet replied. “Were it not for you I would be forced to consume it and would no doubt scald myself terribly or break the cup or both at once and then Joly would fret terribly.”

“I am glad to spare Joly’s nerves,” Feuilly said, taking a sip of coffee. He savored both the taste and the warmth, feeling something inside him relax.

“I won’t keep you from your reading any longer,” Bossuet said, grinning. “Though I would advise against that chair if you’re going to sleep here. The one in the corner is far more comfortable.” With that he strolled away, crossing the room to join Joly and Grantaire in a lively game of dominoes. Feuilly took another swallow of the coffee and went back to his book, slightly more alert than he had been and warmed by more than just the coffee.

Only later, as he was reluctantly getting ready to leave, did he remember that Courfeyrac had left almost immediately after the meeting.


End file.
